It's impossible to guess what workpeople make of one's house when doing repairs on it - when threading wires from top to bottom, for example. And do they speculate much about the lifestyle of the people who live in it? (beyond, in our case, asking Alice why we had so many books, and where my accent was from). I went into the bedroom this evening to discover that they'd moved the bed away from the wall, and rather than simply place the stuffed animals from the bedhead on top of the covers, I found the possum and the grey sheep handpuppet burrowing in a rather frightened way into the pillows. These are not animals with any long lasting sentimental significance - the sheep is only about a year old, from the farmer's market in Santa Fe - so I don't feel any sense of violation here - but it does make me wonder what, if anything, two Colombian electricians think of two women who go to bed with this particular assortment of wildlife.
I also have always liked rumpled beds in photographs, ever since seeing Imogen Cunningham's The Unmade Bed (the inspiration for a rather good Adrienne Rich poem, too). They always look as though they should have a narrative attached to them, even when there isn't one to hand.